


Mick's World

by nirejseki



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: By himself, Episode Related, Fix-It, Gen, Jewish Len Snart is a plot point, Judaism, M/M, because if you want a job done well you'd better do it yourself, in which Leonard Snart fixes everything, spoilers for Doomworld
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-25
Updated: 2017-04-25
Packaged: 2018-10-24 02:09:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10731975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nirejseki/pseuds/nirejseki
Summary: When Leonard Snart gets a hold of the Spear of Destiny, he doesn't turn it over to the Legion of Doom to do with as they wish.He's a thief. He steals it for himself - and for his partner - instead.It's Mick Rory's world now, and you're all just living in it.(rewrite of Doomworld)





	Mick's World

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in a fit of inspiration in the space of about an hour, so...please forgive the mistakes. They may be more than usual.
> 
> For oneiriad, who needs to stop giving me all these fic ideas.

Len's humming to himself as he enters the warehouse where he stashed the guns and the diamond for the time being. His contact was as good as his word - he has a reliable location for Mick and a message out for delivery.

He has no doubt Mick will meet him at the crappy Keystone motel, despite the months since they last saw each other. They've always come back together, always, no matter the reason for the split.

They just need some time to cool off, that's all.

Len smirks at the pun.

Just as he walks in, though, he sees a crackle of lightning. Red lightning, not yellow, but no one's ever been able to fault Len's knee-jerk instincts.

He flips on the gun, aims, and shoots in one move.

He catches the speedster from the waist down.

It's definitely not the kid he saw earlier - an older man, about Len's age, blond. Looks like Len just gave him an unpleasant surprise.

There's laughter from the side of the room.

Len spins and aims the gun at the man who is stepping out of the darkness. White-haired, older, evil smirk.

Damien Darkh. Len's heard of him.

"It's good to see the stories I've heard about you aren't exaggerated," Darkh says. "Well done, Merlyn."

"I told you," Merlyn says smugly, stepping out from the other side.

"Didn't know I deserved this type of ambush," Len drawls. He's heard of Malcolm Merlyn, too, though he doesn't think he's ever heard of him working with Darkh. 

"Nothing _yet_ ," Darkh says. "You see, we're more interested in your future exploits."

"I'm not in the market for a job."

"Not yet," Merlyn says. "But you end up taking one, and it kills you."

Len arches his eyebrows. Oh, that explains it.

They're all stark raving nuts.

"Speedsters can travel in time, Mr. Snart," the speedster says. He's still kicking frost off his feet. "As can time travelers. Two years from now, you sign up with one of the latter, along with your partner, Mick Rory. They lead you into a trap and convince you to sacrifice yourself."

"Doesn't sound like my speed," Len says, smirking at the speedster, who makes a pained face.

"I'm going to enjoy working with you," Darkh comments, also looking at the speedsters face.

"I didn't say I'd sign up."

"You get to prevent your future death at their hands," Merlyn says.

"Now that you've told me, I can do that on my own," Len points out.

"Yes," the speester says. "But then you won't be able to save your partner from their clutches, which is where he is - right now."

That gives Len pause. Mick's not a leader and he hates being alone - he wouldn't put it past a bunch of do-gooders to manipulate the fact of Len's death to fuck with Mick's perceptions, make him little better than the grunt that do-gooders _always_ assume him to be.

"Fine," Len says. "Let's say I'm listening."

They know agreement when they hear it.

"First," Darkh says. "Let me tell you a little bit about the Legends, as they call themselves..."

\--

Len doesn't like what he sees.

He doesn't like it at _all_.

He insists the Legion – Legion of Doom, what a ridiculous name; this Nate fellow is clearly no Cisco – show him some of their encounters with the Legends, but all he can see is Mick.

Mick, beaten down, drunk on a job – Mick is _never_ drunk on a job – and listless.

Mick, being insulted and belittled by his crew.

“He won’t come with you straight away,” Thawne tells him. “You’ll have to be a bit more subtle.”

“I know how to handle my partner,” Len says coldly, and goes.

It’s easy enough to lure Mick out.

“My, my, my, how the mighty have fallen,” he drawls. He hopes to see the familiar phrase – one they bounce back and forth between them when they meet up again by surprise – spark some recognition, some _life_ , in Mick’s eyes, but no. Nothing.

“You said that the last time you appeared,” Mick tells him. 

Len has a moment of worry that this isn’t the first time the Legion has picked him up, but he puts it aside. His priority right now has to be Mick.

“I’m kind of in the middle of something,” Mick continues.

“Yeah, in the middle of being treated like a good little doggie to those insufferable wannabes.” 

Mick ignores him.

Mick _ignores_ him.

Mick _never_ ignores Len.

“Stay on mission now,” he mumbles to himself. “Gotta find this hobbit guy.”

“JRR Tolkien?” Len asks, blinking. He knew Tolkien was a WWI vet, but that seems like a bizarre mission even for the Legends, which seem to collectively have the mental capacity of gnats. Discounting Mick, of course; Mick wasn’t contributing. “Why? Hoping for an autograph?”

“I don’t even know who that guy is,” Mick blatantly lies.

Len gives him a look. There’s no way Mick forgot the epic marathon they did of the LOTR movies, much less the epic, _epic_ marathon of all the Hobbit and LOTR movies. They’d both had wobbly knees after that just from sitting so long. 

Why the hell is Mick playing the fool to Len?

Mick flushes a bit. “All I know is I gotta find this hobbit guy who knows the guy who's buried with Jesus' blood. Then we can destroy the Spear of Destiny.”

Oh. Well, that makes slightly more sense.

Not, you know, as much as going to talk to Tolkien in his nice, quiet university post twenty years in the future and then coming to a non-wartime period to pick it up, or even to go back to the middle ages where it was presumably buried, or anything like that. 

As Len said: _gnats_.

“Mick, Mick, Mick,” he drawls. “When have we ever destroyed anything we’ve ever stolen?”

This time it’s Mick who gives Len the look.

Len grins. He’d put that out there deliberately as an error; he’s partners with Mick Rory. They destroy their scores plenty of times. Better ash than in a pig’s hand, after all.

“This is the most valuable score in the universe!” he continues. According to Thawne, anyway; this spear supposedly _rewrote reality_. Now _that_ was value. “What have they _done_ to you?”

He means it. Mick looks so lost, so sad, so tired. 

For a second there, it looks like he’s getting through – but then Mick’s comm buzzes. “Steal us an ambulance, will you?” a woman’s voice orders. 

“On it,” Mick grunts.

“Mick,” Len says. “What happened? What happened to the man who never took orders from anyone?” He pauses long enough for the _except me_ to be heard, though not said. That's different. Mick agreed to that up front, and Len's done his best never to let him down because of it, though he sometimes screws up. “I respected the hell out of that guy.”

Mick flinches.

“Mick,” Len says again. “They’re treating you like a trained pet. Sit, Mick. Fetch, Mick. Good boy, Mick.” He barks at the end to emphasize it.

“I’m no one’s pet,” Mick growls.

“They don’t trust you,” Len shoots back. He’s seen them, the Legends. He’s seen how they treat Mick. “They may act all friendly to you, but they'll never trust you, never. When the chips are down, they'll look at you the same way they always have: as a thug.”

Mick flinches again. That barb struck home – Len can only imagine what they’ve done that made him act that way.

“You and me?” Len presses. “We're partners. I trust you. I _respect_ you.” 

“You’re dead,” Mick whispers.

“Take the Spear of Destiny, Mick,” Len urges him. “Use it for us.”

“There is no us,” Mick says, voice stronger. “You’re _dead_.”

“I don’t _have_ to be!” Len exclaims. That’s the whole point of this stupid time travel nonsense, isn’t it? “With the spear, it’d be so easy to bring me back.” They could fix history so that they’re right back where they ought to be. Len won’t be a figment from the past, he’ll be real. It’ll be _his_ future again, wide and open, instead of doomed to end in death.

Suckered by a hero. Fool to the last.

No, sir. Not Leonard Snart.

“You’re in my head,” Mick says stubbornly. “You’re an illumination.”

Len frowns. Mick thinks he’s… “A hallucination?”

“That’s it.”

Len feels the rage boil inside of him. Mick’s been hallucinating him, real enough for him not to be able to tell the difference. And the Legends have done _nothing_. 

He punches Mick in the cheek. Not that hard – hard enough to bruise, but still pulling most of his strength. “Did that feel like a hallucination?” he snarls.

“I need to go,” Mick says, and backs off.

Len punches the side of the tent – it’s not as satisfying as wood, but does less damage to his hand – and returns to the Legion.

“Do you know what they’re up to?” Darkh asks. His eyes are avid. Greedy. 

Lewis’ eyes looked like that.

“Yeah,” Len says, making a snap decision, the same sort he made when he decided to go up against the Streak one on one instead of backing off the diamond or finding a quiet way to pick it up. “Yeah, I know what they’re up to.”

It’s not until later, though, when he finds them in the church, Mick as listless as ever, that the decision becomes finalized. 

“Pretty pathetic if you ask me,” he drawls. He’s never liked churches. His father dragged him to a few of them, unwilling to let his son follow his Jewish mother and only solidifying Len’s decision to reject Christianity. Ironic that he’s chasing a Christian trophy now. 

“Mr. Snart?” the guy he’s been told is Rip Hunter says.

“You can see him,” Mick breathes. 

Len’s heart hurts. Mick didn’t believe he was real, really didn’t, not until this moment. He can see it in Mick’s eyes.

“You’re supposed to be dead,” Hunter continues.

“Yeah, they told me all about how I get soft and die for you losers. I didn't believe them,” Len says. 

He had, of course, once they’d shown him evidence. But it sets up –

“Believe who?”

\- the perfect entrance line.

“Well, if that’s not an entrance line, I don’t know what is,” Darkh says.

Len sighs. Hanging a lampshade on it just ruins the whole effect, in his view. 

“The Legion must have traveled back in time and picked up Mr. Snart before he joined the Legends,” Hunter says.

“He told us all about your plan on how you're going to destroy the spear,” Darkh says.

“Thanks for the tip, Mick,” Len adds. He says it more to see what’ll happen than anything else – whether the Legends will live down to his worst fears, or if there’s some glimmer of real comradery there.

But no. 

They turn glares on Mick, blaming him already, and Mick stiffens up, expecting a verbal attack, saying “I didn’t think he was real” as if he can ward off future pain.

Oh, the Legends are going to _pay_ for what they’ve done to his partner.

But in the ensuing fight, Len realizes – “You actually _care_ about these losers!” he exclaims, staring at Mick. 

Mick looks torn, but he turns and follows them instead. 

_Them_ , not Len.

“I guarantee they don’t care about you, Mick!” Len calls after him, letting him go. “They wouldn’t treat you this way if they did!”

Mick’s gone.

“Your plan working yet, Snart?” Thawne asks snidely.

Len turns on him. “Oh, it’s working,” he says. He’s really done with Thawne’s shit, and he’s barely known him more than a few days. “Don’t you worry. How about your little Merlyn’s job, huh? He living up to his end of things?”

“Of course he is,” Thawne sniffs.

“You’re the time traveler,” Len says. “Go find out.”

“He’ll meet us back in the Vanishing Point –”

“Sure he will,” Len drawls. “Because a time ship and a mystical book of spells would never result in a double cross. The Legions can always _leave_ this time period and go to another one to find what they need, you moron.”

Thawne purses his lips. “Fine,” he says shortly. “I’ll go check in on him.”

“Bring a copy of the relevant few pages, will you?” Len says. “It’ll gives us a lead to where the Legends are going.”

He goes and returns within an hour.

“He’s found the Kalabros,” he reports smugly. “The word of god himself.”

“Owner’s manual for the Spear of Destiny," Darkh says, practically cackling. 

“Does it have a _map_ on it?” Len asks, letting all of his unimpressed disdain into his voice.

Thawne rolls his eyes and shoves the pages into Len’s hands. "I quick-copied them myself," he says. 

Len looks at the pages. “No man’s land,” he says, recognizing it, and hands it back. “Let’s go get ‘em.”

Thawne flashes it out of his hands. “Wouldn’t want you looking too long and getting ideas about translating it,” he laughs. 

Len rolls his eyes and hides a smile.

Joke’s on him. 

Len’s got an eidetic memory.

More than that, though: he’s got a working knowledge of Hebrew, learned purely to spite his father, and Hebrew’s the language written right alongside the Aramaic in the book. 

Written Hebrew hasn’t changed, not really, in at least two thousand years.

Len smiles. 

They wait for the Legends to make their move – a ceasefire, _really_? – and Len and Darkh go to stop them.

“Hand over the spear or we kill you,” Darkh says. His eyes are glowing; he means it. 

Len’s made them promise not to kill Mick, but right now? Right now Darkh would kill them all.

But Mick is the one holding the spear.

“Mick,” Len says.

Sara reaches for it.

Mick moves it away.

_Yes._

“Hey, man,” Nate says. “We’re your friends.”

“I don’t have friends,” Mick says, accepting it at last. 

“But he does have partners,” Len says with satisfaction. They’re friends, too, but friends has always been secondary. They’re _partners_ : they’ll have each other’s backs, even when they hate each other. That’s what it means. “So what do you say? _Partner?_ ”

“Mick, you’re better than this,” Sara says. Her eyes are all wide and pleading, like a few last minute words can make up for months of neglect – and that’s just what the Legion has shown Len.

“No, actually,” Len drawls, “you’re not. They may pretend to believe in you as long as they can use you, but they'll just as soon let you die.” Len pauses, still bitter. “Same as they did me.”

They lead Len to the slaughter so he would die for them. They’ll do the same for Mick in a heartbeat. 

Len’s not going to let that happen.

“He’s messing with your head, man,” one of them says.

“Ever since I've been on that ship, you people have been trying to change me,” Mick growls.

“That's not true, Mick.”

“Guess what?” he continues, ignoring her. “There are things about me I wanna change too.”

Sara’s eyes go cold. “Steel up, Nate,” she orders. “Stop him.”

“He does, you and animal chick die, but we still keep the spear,” Darkh says. 

“And we’re gonna make all kinds of fun changes,” Len says with satisfaction. He’s got some in mind already.

“You bastard,” Amaya tells Mick.

Mick hesitates. “Come with me,” he offers her. Len arches his eyebrow. Maybe she was nicer than the others. Or maybe - oh, fine. If Mick really cares about them all that much, Len won't take brutal revenge on them, no matter how much he wants to. “The spear can help us fix your messed up future and my past.”

“Never,” she says, and Len can tell from how her face twists that she’s disdaining Mick now, for his choices.

Mick goes over to Len. By Len’s side, where he belongs. 

“if you think we’re gonna let you walk out of here –” one of the Legends starts.

Len doesn’t care which one. He’s only got eyes for his partner. By his side again. “You’re right,” he says, putting his gun away. “We could use a distraction.” He pulls a grenade. “I hereby declare the armistice – _over_.”

He throws it.

Within minutes, there’s gunfire everywhere.

“Oh that’s just great,” Mick grumbles. “Now we’re all gonna die.”

“Mick, have I ever pulled a heist without a getaway plan?”

And then Thawne is there. 

Len can see him coming, the blur of lightning on the hill.

“Get Darkh first,” Len yells to him. “Get him back to the ship!”

It makes literally zero sense to do that, of course, but as Len suspects, Thawne is moving too fast to use his critical thinking skills at the same time. Len’s on his side, Len’s proven himself, Len can be listened to, so he does it, spiriting Darkh away first.

“I wish it could’ve been different, Sara,” Mick is saying to her, his face wistful.

“I don’t,” Len says, striding towards Mick and grabbing the spear so that they’re both holding it. He puts his other hand on Mick’s arm. “And right now, it’s my wishes that matter.”

And he says the words that he saw on those pages, the Kalabros, the Word of God – owner’s manual to the Spear of Destiny – and the spear glows in response, brighter and brighter. 

Thawne gets back to ‘rescue’ Len and Mick only in time to shout “No!” but it’s too late –

The Legends are running towards them, but they’re too late –

Time itself is spinning around them, the battlefield twisting in time, twisting, twisting –

Gone.

\--

Central City.

They’re in the kitchen, of course.

Mick blinks. 

“We’re in the kitchen,” he observes.

“I thought you’d want a beer,” Len replies. He goes to put the spear away. It’s still shining a bit, but it looks satisfied. A bit like a cat with the canary – or a man right after a _really_ good orgasm – 

Len hears the sound of Mick pulling open the gargantuan fridge while he pulls open the pantry and walks inside.

That’s a _lot_ of food. He’s impressed with himself. The pantry, of course, leads to a secret door, and the pneumatic tube system next to the dumbwaiter. Len had seen them once and thought it was pretty cool. This version had a place for the spear to fit in.

Best of all, since it was a tube system, if he thought someone was about to find the spear, he could press a button and it’d go shooting along the tube system to the next stopping point. A moving target is the hardest type of target – which is of course why Len goes after them so often.

He slides the spear into place. “Don’t get too satisfied,” he tells it. “I’m probably going to need the rest of what I asked you for, so just hold it in reserve, yeah?”

The spear glows softly, almost like it’s confirming.

Len is pleased.

He goes back out of the pantry.

“You stocked the fridge with my favorite beer,” Mick says. He’s got one in front of him, open, and the makings of his favorite sandwich, but he’s not moving to make that sandwich. His eyes are glassy.

“Of course I did,” Len says. “Now eat up. We’re going to rob Central City National later.”

“We are?” Mick looks around the well-stocked kitchen as if seeing it for the first time.

There are four ovens, a full stove, two fridges and counterspace nearly everywhere. Overkill, in Len’s mind. 

“This is my kitchen,” Mick whispers.

Len goes to him. “Yeah,” he says. The kitchen Mick rambles on about when he’s drunk, the one he always said he’d have someone build him if he ever got that one perfect score, the score of a life time. Every last detail that Len committed to memory, from the brand of the oven to the color of the marble countertops. “It’s your kitchen, Mick. I _told_ you the Spear was the score of a lifetime.”

“You always have to be right,” Mick says. Both of them pretend to not notice him scrubbing his face. “We’re going to go do a job? Now?”

“It’ll make you feel better,” Len says. It always has. Mick’s not as much of an adrenaline junkie as Len, but damn if he doesn’t love it when they break the law. “And CC Nat is like taking candy from a baby.”

He pauses. “Well, usually. Did I ever get to tell you about this speedster fellow…?”

Mick snorts. “Yeah,” he says. “Oh, boy, _did_ you. Guess they picked you up between you fighting him the first time and you giving me the heat gun, huh?”

“Yeah,” Len says. 

“There was less than four hours in between the two,” Mick observes. 

Len blushes for his older self’s eagerness. Sounds like him. “Yeah, yeah,” he says gruffly. “Speedsters; what can you do? Did I have a plan to figure out his identity yet?”

“You figured it out,” Mick confirms, then laughs when Len wrinkles his nose. His future self got to have all the fun! “And I know it now, too. We teamed up to fight the aliens.”

“Aliens?!” Len yelps. “What the hell did I _miss_?!”

Mick just starts laughing. It’s a good while before he stops. 

Len just gives it up for a lost cause and gingerly wraps his arms around Mick. He never does this in public, of course, but they’re in their own damn house. 

Mick buries his face into Len’s shoulder and just sobs for a bit. 

Len doesn’t say anything. It’s better that way; that way they can both pretend this didn’t happen, later. That it hasn’t happened many times before.

“So,” Len says, when Mick’s finally stopped shaking. “Bank? And then dinner?”

“Dinner first,” Mick says. “I know you. We’ll get back, you’ll be high on adrenaline, and you’ll want nothing but pizza, and because we’re lying low, that means I gotta make it for you.”

Len shrugs. It’s a system! It works!

“Greens _first_.”

“Creamed spinach?” Len suggests hopefully.

Mick gives him a look. “Some things never change,” he grumbles, but the way his eyes crinkle up shows he doesn’t mean it. “And you’re getting _sautéed_ spinach. With lots of garlic, so don’t start whining.”

“I’m the master of this city,” Len sniffs. “I will whine if I want to.”

The spinach is good. He doesn’t understand it. Must be the garlic.

Also, the Legion had _shitty_ taste in take-out. 

Len’s about halfway through when Mick yowls.

He’s up and out of his chair and down the hall before he can think twice, gun up and ready, only to find Mick…standing in the hallway?

“What is it?” Len asks, eyes darting from side to side. 

“I – uh – I…”

“You good?”

“Yeah,” Mick says, shaking his head. “I’m good. I just – I thought I saw a – and this sounds crazy, I know – but I thought I saw a ninja?”

“Oh,” Len says. “That. Yes. I got you some.”

Mick blinks. “You…what?”

“Ninjas,” Len says. “You still like them, right?”

“Uh…yeah?”

“Good. I got you your own loyal-to-the-death squad of ninjas.” Len shrugs when Mick gapes at him. “They double as housecleaners?”

“Are you _nuts_?”

“I had the ability to _change reality_ ,” Len says. “So maybe I played around a bit.”

“You got me _ninjas_?”

“Ninja henchmen,” Len confirms. 

“Ninja _henchmen_?”

“We’re supervillains, aren’t we?” Len says, shrugging. “You and me.”

“I just thought we’d go back to the way we were,” Mick says faintly.

“I’m working on that part,” Len assures him. “The spear said that too many memories all at once would be disruptive, so it’ll seep in over the next day or so.”

Mick frowns at him. “Memories?”

“You’ve had a lot of experiences without me,” Len points out. “I gave you the heat gun, we teamed up again, all that stuff. Hardly fair if you remember it and I don’t. So I asked for those memories – the next two years – back.”

Mick swallows hard. 

“I know I’m not the Len you lost,” Len says gently. “But give me a few days, and I’ll be him again.” He wrinkles his nose. “Though hopefully I’ll keep enough of my mind _not_ to let a group of heroes convince me to _kill myself_ for _them_.”

“You didn’t,” Mick whispers.

Now it’s Len’s turn to blink. “What?”

“You didn’t,” Mick swallows. He reaches for his chest and pulls out a chain, with a ring. Len’s ring, the old one from their very first job together. “You didn’t kill yourself for them. You killed yourself because I was going to do it, and you wouldn’t let me.”

Len considers this face. “Oh,” he says after a few long moments. “Well, _that_ makes a lot more sense.”

“No, it _doesn’t_ ,” Mick says wretchedly. “I hurt you – you hurt me – we were _fighting_ –”

“You’re my partner,” Len says, because it really is that simple, in the end. 

Mick has to swallow a few more times and rub some more at his eyes. “Okay,” he says after a while, his voice harsh. “Let’s – let’s go rob a bank.”

They go out.

“Leonard Itzhak Snart,” Mick says flatly. “What the fuck is _that_?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Len says. He aims for innocent. It doesn’t work. Mick has pulled out _the full name_. 

“What. Is. _That_?”

“Are you referring to the new low-cost housing units I installed all through the slumzones?” Len asks, blinking innocently. They’re called the ‘Fire & Ice Projects’, and they’re legally protected from being demolished for condos or rent rises, at least for the next few years. 

“No, you idiot,” Mick growls. “I’m referring to the fucking _supervillain lair_ you decided we live in!”

Len turns and beams at their house. It’s _awesome_.

“It’s a goddamn castle!” Mick howls. 

“Please. It has laser defenses.”

“It has a moat! With _sharks_!”

“You’re the one who wanted to leave his life savings to an endangered shark sanctuary!”

“ _Sharks!_ ”

“I didn’t put lasers on their heads,” Len says. “This is _restraint_ on my part.”

“How the hell doesn’t the Flash just come and pick us up here?” Mick asks, shaking his head.

“It’s an embassy,” Len replies promptly.

Mick buries his face in his hands. “It’s an embassy,” he says hollowly. It’s okay. Len knows that tone. It means Mick’s about to fall over laughing.

“Well, the Legion did pick me up from history and enable me to steal the spear from them,” Len says with a shrug. “They should’ve known better than to trust a thief.”

“I can’t believe you,” Mick says. “What did you do with them?”

“Well, Thawne wanted to be famous and respected and not dead – he was being hunted by something called the Black Flash – and Darkh wanted to be in charge of a city or country, as did Merlyn, and they all wanted their families back – so I gave them their own country. As co-rulers.”

“Co-rulers,” Mick says, his voice marginally squeaky. “ _Them_.”

“Yeah, I’m not seeing it go well,” Len says, smirking. “I did give ‘em their families back, though. Least I could do, since I took their magic and speed away.”

“Co-rulers,” Mick repeats, and shakes his head. “Where did you put them? Australia?”

“No, I like Australia,” Len says. “I gave ‘em the Great and Independent State of Texas.”

That’s the straw that breaks the camel’s back.

Mick needs to sit down, he’s laughing so hard.

Len grins.

\--

Robbing the bank is fun. 

Central City First National Bank – CC Nat, to those in its immediate vicinity – is a long-standing favorite target of Len’s, mostly because its security is never updated and its depositors never learn. It’s practically an invitation to get your money paid back by the FDIC.

It’s a lot _more_ fun when he has the Streak to contend with.

“Since when does the Streak have a sidekick?” he asks Mick.

“Flash,” Mick corrects. “He hasn’t been called the Streak – well, since your time.”

Len gets a vague flash of memory. “We put him on TV?” he asks.

“That’s right,” Mick says, smiling. “Sidekick’s Kid Flash, I think.”

“Excellent,” Len says, and charges up his gun. “You know the plan?”

Mick grins. “I know the plan.”

The plan goes pretty well – they manage to get away with about a quarter of the intended take, which Len is counting as a victory. The Flash is a tough enemy. 

“That went well,” he tells Mick.

“It did,” Mick says, bouncing a little on his feet with adrenaline as they drive into the lair. “That was fun. I haven’t had fun since…well, it’s been a while. You know there’s a statute of me in Washington DC?”

“No, really?”

“Saved Washington’s life.”

“ _Nice_ ,” Len says. “Do I get to remember that?”

“No, you were gone,” Mick says, but the pain in his eyes every time he mentions it is already fading. “But I’ll tell you all about it.”

“You’d better.”

There’s a flash of lightning – yellow, not red – and suddenly the Flash is standing there in their living room.

Mick starts to reach for his gun, but Len catches his arm. “Relax,” he says. 

“What’re you up to, boss?” Mick asks.

“Just a little twist,” Len says proudly. 

“Not much of one,” Barry says, pushing his cowl back. He grins at them. “Apparently, superhero versus supervillain fights are legal now, even if the actual _thieving_ you guys do isn’t. Thanks for that. Makes my life easier.”

Len arches his eyebrows. “I don’t remember specifying us being friends,” he drawls. His instructions had been slightly more ‘favored pet nemesis’, really…

“Speedster,” Barry says. “I keep my memories pretty well. Cisco, too, thanks to his Vibe powers. We became friends, you know.”

“You’re kidding.”

“…exaggerating a bit,” Barry concedes. “But we worked together sometimes! Or, well, Mick and I did!”

Mick nods. 

“So, I mean, my fake memories mostly say that after battles I come here and we hang out and critique each other,” Barry says, beaming. “Which even though I know they’re fake sounds pretty good to me. Did you _actually_ put a huge amount of low-income housing in the slums?”

“You ought to see what I did to the politicians,” Len says, a little proudly.

“I’m more impressed by the fact that all the Families defer to you now,” Barry says. He is Barry, now that Len thinks about it; he doesn’t remember getting the memory of learning the kid’s name back, but it’s coming back. They definitely knew each other. 

“The Families?” Mick asks.

“I may have named myself the Godfather of Central City,” Len confesses.

Mick snorts. “I’m not surprised,” he says.

“Really?”

“You did it last time, too.”

“I look forward to remembering that…”

Barry looks between the two of them and shakes his head. “Let’s postpone the hang-out till tomorrow, huh?” he says with a smile. “You two need to catch up. Though you probably want to talk to the Legends first.”

Mick’s back straightens. “The Legends,” he says cautiously.

“They’re still rebuilding their ship,” Barry says.

Mick turns to Len.

“I would’ve punished ‘em,” Len says. “For treating you that way. But you seemed to really care about ‘em, so I left ‘em be.” He thinks. “I did steal a bit of their ship, though. Just to fuck with 'em.”

“I want to see them,” Mick says.

“What you want, you get,” Len says. He’s always believed it to be true, but now – 

Now he can really do it.

“Where’s Lisa?” Mick asks as they’re driving down the streets of Central on his bike, Len taking the time to enjoy being curled up against Mick’s back. 

“Three-time Olympics champion in figure skating,” Len says. “Also recently named Queen of Norway. Almost certainly leaving me nasty voice messages on my phone right now.”

Mick sniggers. 

“I got her a private island in the Caribbean. She should stop whining.”

“You spoil her.”

“I mean to spoil you, too,” Len says. “Is it working?”

“Yeah, Lenny,” Mick says fondly. “It’s working.”

They come to a stop in front of the Legends’ ship.

The Waverider. Len remembers that now, just a word with no images, but the images will come.

“Mick?” Sara asks, climbing out. “Mick, is that you?”

The rest of the Legends come out behind her.

“Yeah, it’s me,” Mick says, crossing his arms. “I ain’t sorry about it, neither.”

“The only changes made to the world appear to be the inclusion of a castle and a great deal of low income housing, as well as city-wide free healthcare and a better metro system,” Stein says. “I’m not entirely sure what you have to be sorry about.”

“Looking up the changes to the world has been a bit like spending a year hunting down a bad guy,” Jax says, looking bemused, “and then at the end he turns around and hands you cake. Good cake. Cake which is not a lie.”

“It is a bit of one,” Len says. “But you’d never know it.”

“You didn’t change a lot,” Sara says.

“I gave the Waverider some new guns,” he offers. 

“And a second jump ship,” she says. “We noticed. Uh. Thanks. I guess?”

Len shrugs. “Mick liked you,” he says. “And I did too, apparently. I’m still pissed at all of you for what I saw when I was with the Legion, but I’m willing to hold off until I get all my memories back to judge.”

“Memories?” Rip asks.

“I’m getting all my memories until I died back,” Len says. “Obviously.”

Sara swallows. “Len,” she says. “The spear – the changes don’t ring in the timeline as aberrations.”

“No, they don’t. That’s how the spear works.”

She swallows again. “Could you bring Laurel back?” she asks.

“Laurel?” Len asks.

“Her sister,” Mick says.

“Could you make Lily not an aberration?” Stein asks eagerly.

“Rex,” Amaya whispers. “Rex could be not dead…”

“Just make me a list,” Len says helplessly.

When they go home, Len retrieves the spear, which is glowing as if to say “Already?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Len mutters. “Last few changes. Okay. Let’s try to make as few nasty impacts to the timeline as possible, okay?”

The spear purrs approvingly.

“Laurel Lance is hereby resurrected from the dead, her body and soul whole and entire. This is due to someone dropping a magic one-use-only artefact on her grave and then digging her up; she won’t wake up until she’s free to oxygen.” 

Mick arches his eyebrows.

“Reduces trauma,” Len tells him. “Vampire movies and Buffy all agree.”

Mick rolls his eyes.

“Lily Stein is no longer an aberration. Jefferson Jackson is hereby to return from the secret mission to space he has been on these last twenty years after the government faked his death…”

“Secret mission to space,” Mick says dryly.

“I’ve quadrupled NASA’s budget twice over,” Len says with dignity. “As it _should_ be.”

“I’m not even commenting.”

Len shakes his head. “Rex Tyler, Hourman, was only injured by Eobard Thawne’s attack on him, enough to convince Amaya Jiwe to board the Waverider in hopes of finding his attacker,” he says. “His body was then…uh…kidnapped by aliens, who healed him and put him in stasis.”

“The Dominators,” Mick suggests.

Len shoots him a look.

“I didn’t name ‘em.”

“Okay. Fine. He was kidnapped by the Dominators, who put him in stasis so he would heal but not age. He came back to earth when they did on their spaceships in…”

“Last year.”

“…last year. Really?!”

“You missed a lot. Finish using the spear.”

“Right, right. So when the Dominators came to earth this time, he was rescued by Oliver Queen –“ Sara had mentioned him earlier. “- who hid him in his laboratory until he woke up, which would be right about now. Mick, remind me to tell Barry to call Oliver and tell him to bring Rex over so he can go off and be in a nice happy threesome with Amaya and Nate.”

“Will do,” Mick says.

“Amaya Jiwe, while serving in the JSA, donated her eggs in a ground-breaking new process to another person in her village, who bears the woman who will be her daughter and her granddaughter Mari’s mother. And – oh, just give her a duplicate totem. Long lost twin or something, recently found.”

The spear glows.

Len shakes his head. “That’s enough for now,” he says. “Thanks.”

The spear glows again.

He puts it away.

“Now is everybody happy?” he asks Mick. “Except the Legion and Rip, of course, who are just having existential issues.”

“I’m going to invite Oliver and Felicity to the next hero and villain movie night,” Mick says.

“You do that,” Len says with a sigh. He did not specify movie nights, but apparently he’s got them now.

“Until then, though,” Mick says, and wraps an arm around Len’s shoulders. “I’ve got an idea.”

“Does it involve dessert?” Len says hopefully.

“It does,” Mick says, smirking. “Your favorite type.”

“I actually meant funfetti cake,” Len says, “but I suppose I’ll take you as an acceptable alternative.”

Mick snorts. “You had the ability to do anything at all with the Spear of Destiny and you chose to make me a paradise,” he tells Len. “I think your fondness for me is showing.”

Len sniffs. “It is not.”

“Want to bet if I can _make_ it show?”

Len’s not taking that bet.

That’s a sucker’s bet, and Leonard Snart, ladies and gentlemen, is nobody's fool.


End file.
